


#36

by hhopp



Series: Hhopp's Destiel Angst-a-Thon [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Cas Whump, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Whump, drug mention, tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 13:04:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10163618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hhopp/pseuds/hhopp
Summary: "Is that-- blood?"





	

Cas thudded against the door before shoving it open and stumbling inside. 

“You okay, man?” he asked, eyes still fixed on his computer screen. Cas just grunted and shuffled past him to his bed. Dean looked up. “Holy— Cas, what happened? Is that… blood?”

“I’m fine.”

“Dude, you clearly aren’t. Look at me.” It was worse when you looked at him head-on. His face was decorated with double shiners and a split lip, and dark, goopy blood was drizzling out of his nose. “What happened to you?”

“I walked into a wall,” he said, voice dry.

“No you didn’t. Not this time, anyway. Did you get in a fight?”

“Not exactly.” 

“Okay,” Dean sighed. “You can explain in a minute. Sit tight, I’m gonna grab you a cold compress from the kitchen.” He clambered off the bed and squeezed Cas’ shoulder as he passed.

“Thanks.” 

By the time he was back, the nosebleed had stopped and Cas was holding onto a reddened tissue. 

“Here. Hold that on your face for about ten minutes, then take it off for five. Rinse and repeat.”

“Why do you know so much about this?” he asked, gingerly pressing the frigid fabric to his right eye.

“Patched myself up more than a few times in high school.” Because apparently, his no-nonsense, hyper-masculine, alcoholic father didn’t like the idea of a gay son, and neither did his small, Christian hometown. 

To be honest, he’d been kind of worried on move-in day. When he walked into his dorm room, he found a cute boy putting up a poster of honest-to-God angel wings. Fantastic. It was his luck that he’d be sharing a room with some sort of bible thumper on his first foray out into this whole new world of possibilities. And that’s the story of how the first words out of his mouth to his best friend were “Hi, guess we’re roommates. First thing you ought to know about me is that I am a flaming bisexual, and no amount of scripture quoting or hymn singing is gonna change that.”

That’s also the story of how the first words his best friend said to him were “Cool, me too. And I’m not religious.” (Apparently the guy doesn’t believe in God, but likes the idea of angels.)

“So what happened, exactly?”

“Meg Masters and her friends happened. I caught them selling drugs behind Seaton a few days ago. Apparently they figured out it was me who reported them to administration.”

Most guys who looked and acted like Dean Winchester would have asked if a big dude like Cas had actually gotten beaten up by a couple of girls. However, Dean had grown up best friends with Jo Harvelle. That was not a question which needed asking; the answer was a resounding yes.

“You think this was a one-time thing or should I go with you to class for the next few days?”

“Would you?”

“No problem, man. Just let me know when and where you need to be.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

They quieted for a little while. Dean went back to his essay, Cas put in his headphones. Every so often, Dean would remind him to move the ice pack. Eventually, Cas got bored with whatever it was he was doing and got ready for bed. 

“Try to get some sleep,” he said, clicking off his lamp.

“You aren’t my mother.”

“Damn straight.”

“Wrong.” That one made Cas snort. 

It was how they bonded. A bit of flirting here, a lot more there. You know how it goes. Dean actually did go to bed pretty soon after that— but it was completely of his own volition, not because Cas suggested it. Not at all.

When he woke up, it was around 4:30. A dark thatch of hair had wedged its way under his chin. 

Nightmares, probably. The pair had kind of an “open arms” policy when it came to that— you have a nightmare, you snuggle up with the other until you fall back asleep. Except they didn’t call it snuggling, because they were manly men. And manly men do not snuggle— they huddle for security purposes. In the faint glow of the billboard light streaming through the blinds, he checked up on Cas’ bruises. They were changing from red to purple, the busted lip scabbed over. 

Meg Masters and her cronies. Those must’ve been Bela and Ruby.

Now that he thinks about it, it’s probably a minor miracle that his nose wasn’t broken, or worse. He glanced across the room at the Angel poster. Yeah, Minor miracle.

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing. Kudos, Comments, you know the drill if you've ever read an author's note before.


End file.
